


When the Lights Go Out (Will You Still Love Me at the Bottom of the Abyss?).

by Actual_Writing_Trashcan



Series: Colossus Hyperfixation Collection [21]
Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Anxiety, CANNOT BE PARALLELED, Depression, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Mental Breakdown, Panic Attacks, THE CONFUSION, THE PARADOX, Verbal Abuse, angsty, because feels, but also fluffy, but with pain, don't read if you think it'll trigger you, mentions of vomit, piotr pov, trigger warnings for the following:, yes it's fluff, you have a shitty time of it and piotr's there to love you through it, your wellbeing is more important
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 12:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16346450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Actual_Writing_Trashcan/pseuds/Actual_Writing_Trashcan
Summary: Piotr comes back from a mission to find you in the middle of a mental breakdown after a particularly heinous phone call with your mother. He does his best to take care of you and remind you that he loves you, so very much.All warnings in the tags.(Set after Breaking Through.)





	When the Lights Go Out (Will You Still Love Me at the Bottom of the Abyss?).

The first thing he sees when the ramp of the jet lowers is Wade running towards him.

Normally, it’d be obnoxious, but the concerned expression on Wade’s face combined with your absence is worthy cause for concern.

And, when Nathan follows, expression equally intense, he panics. Just a little.

“Where’s Y/N?”

Nathan ushers them off to the side so they’re off the ramp and out of the path of traffic. “She’s had a bad week. Really bad.”

If he wasn’t panicking before, he is now. “What? How bad? Where is she? Is Y/N alright?”

“She’s in her room.” Wade grimaces. “We... haven’t been able to coax her out for the past couple days.

_Blyad_. “What... what happened?” he whispers, unable to fathom what could’ve sent you down such a spiral.

Nathan makes a face that settles somewhere between anguish and murder. “It’s... a long story. We should get you inside, though. Get you checked out and get you to your girl.”

He doesn’t even hesitate. Whatever triggered this episode can wait; right now, you need him. He strides inside, determined to get through the routine checks at the clinic as quickly as possible.  _Hang on, myshka. I’m coming_.

 

* * *

 

As soon as the medics clear him, he rinses off quickly in the locker room, changes into regular clothes, and heads straight your room. He knocks twice to announce his presence, then opens for the door.

It’s completely dark in the room, save for the light of your phone screen. The curtains are drawn shut, and the room looks like it’s barely been touched.

That’s not good. That’s  _extremely_  not good.

He winces when he hears you whimper, then rushes over to your bedside when you start crying. “ _Tische, myshka_. Everything is okay. It’s okay.” He can tell by the texture of your hair under his fingers and the stronger-than-usual smell of body odor that it’s been a couple days since you’ve showered --possibly a couple days since you’ve changed out of your pajamas. “What’s wrong? Why are you so upset?”

You sob out something unintelligible and cling harder to him.

“Okay, okay.”  _Blyad, she is in state. I wish I knew what upset her so bad_. “How about we get you cleaned up,  _da_?”

That, for some reason, just makes you cry harder. “No, I can’t --I’m not--”

His eyes widen when he hears your breathing kick up to ‘panic attack’ speeds and he holds you closer, cradling you in his arms. “ _Moya lyubov_ , what is wrong? Why are you so upset?”

“I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.”

“Okay, okay.” He rocks you back and forth, shushing you gently while kisses your forehead. “It’s okay. I’m going to take care of you. Everything will be okay.”

You whimper again. “I don’t feel good.”

He kisses the top of your head. “What doesn’t feel good,  _myshka_?”

“Stomach. And head. My head hurts really bad. And ‘m nauseous. Can’t keep food down.”

He kisses your temple as he rubs his hand up and down your back.  _My poor myshka_. “When was last time you threw up?”

“Two days ago.”

He grimaces.  _Der’mo_. He’s certain he knows the answer to the question he’s about to ask, but he asks it anyway. “When was last meal?”

“...Before that.”

_Bozhe moi_. Instead of panicking --and, admittedly, he has to tamp the instinct down--he kisses the bridge of your nose and picks you up. “Okay. It’s okay. I’m going to take care of you.  _Khorosho_?”

You let out a small sob, sniffle, then wrap your arms around his neck. “Okay.”

 

* * *

 

He gets you cleaned up first. He brushes your hair --which takes considerable effort, given how tangled it is--helps you shower off --there’s no way he’s leaving you in there alone, considering how unsteady on your feet you are--then wraps you in a towel and leaves you to sit on the edge of the tub while he gets back into his clothes and grabs a pair of clean pajamas for you.

He can’t fathom what could’ve set you off so badly. You’ve had your rough moments, your episodes, but seeing you so down and worn out and broken...

_Blyad, it’s terrifying_.

When he walks back into the bathroom, not two minutes later, he finds you slumped on the floor, sobbing. He helps you sit up and starts toweling you off while you cry. “It’s going to be okay,  _myshka_. Deep breaths.”

You shake your head. “No, it’s not! It’s not --I’m not--you’re not--”

“Calm down,  _lyublyu_ , please. Take deep breaths.” He helps you wiggle into the clean pajama shirt and kisses the top of your head. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

That, for some reason, makes what little calm you had left shatter. You give him an utterly heartbroken look and curl into a little ball, shrieking cries muffled by the fluffy bathmat.

He stares at you for a moment, completely bewildered and utterly horrified that he’s caused such a devastating response in you.  _What happened while I was gone? Why is she so upset? I didn’t... I didn’t say anything_... “ _Myshka_. What’s wrong? Talk to me,  _please_.” He lifts you into his lap when you don’t answer and cradles you against his chest. “What happened? Why are you so upset?”

You clutch at the material of his shirt. “You’re gonna leave me!”

He’s still completely lost as to  _what_  put you in this state, but he’ll be damned if he isn’t going to do whatever he has to in order to get you out of it. “ _Nyet, myshka_. I’m staying right here. With you.”

“No, you’re gonna realize what an abomination I am and leave me--”

It’s the word choice that sets off the alarm bells in his head.

_Abomination_.

He knows from handling a few notes left for you by your mother --he’d searched your stuff while you were being evaluated after an episode that was triggered by one; he wasn’t about to let you find something like that again--that she often referred to your mutation --to you--as an abomination.

His eyes narrow.  _Did she find another note? Or... did she come into contact with her parents somehow?_  He holds you close and tucks your head under his chin.

He can figure out the specifics later. Right now, his goal is to calm you down and get you to eat something.

He kisses your forehead. “I know you don’t believe me, but I promise I am not going anywhere,” he says softly. “Not now, not later, not ever. You are my whole world. I love you more than anything,  _myshka_ , and that is truth. I will never leave you.”

Your whole body shudders and you look up at him with watery eyes. “Why? You could find someone so much better.”

His heart breaks for you at that, and he shakes his head. “ _Nyet_. Never. You are my heart.  _Moya serdste. Moya dusha_. I will never find anyone better than you.” He squeezes you against his chest and kisses both your cheeks. “Let’s finish getting you dressed, and then we feed you.  _Da_?”

Your lower lip trembles and you lay your head against his shoulder. “I guess.”

 

* * *

 

He gives you some anti-nausea meds and painkillers, then settles you on the couch in the rec room, pulls up Netflix, and goes about fixing you some pancakes.

Granted, they’re not the healthiest option, but he just wants you to eat right now.

Nathan walks into the kitchen as he pours the first two pancakes in the skillet.

He checks to make sure that you’re well occupied by the TV, then waves the older man over. “What happened while I was gone?”

Nathan grimaces and turns his back to the TV. “ _Somehow_ , her mom got her cell number. Called her until she picked up, then started bitching about how she’d left and how ungrateful she was...”

He forces himself to breathe evenly as he pours another two pancakes and adds a smattering of chocolate chips.  _No wonder she is wreck. My poor myshka_.

“...and then she hit the bit about her being unlovable, and she mentioned that she had you which meant her mom was wrong--”

His blood runs cold.  _Nyet_.

Not that he minds that you told your mom. He feels no shame for being with you, and he’s perfectly happy to stand as evidence that you are both loved and lovable.

However, he’s gotten good at recognizing unwinnable arguments before they start, and he’s certain that your mother hadn’t believed you for a second.

“--and apparently her mom laughed in her face, said that you were just pitying her, and that no decent man would ever want a, and I quote, ‘abominable freak like her.’”

He’s grateful that he’s not armored up right now, because if he had been this skillet handle would’ve been a goner.

_Well, that explains why she was so worried that I would leave her. Der’mo, why can’t her parents just let her have peace? She is adult; they have nothing to gain by harassing her_. He sets the plate of freshly made pancakes aside, then steps over to the fridge and pulls out a partially consumed pack of bacon.

As far as he’s concerned, you’ve earned it.

“She had three episodes, one right after the other. As soon as the clinic cleared her, she denied treatment and holed up in her room.” Nathan glances over his shoulder and sucks in a breath through his teeth as he watches you mope on the couch. “It’s the worst I’ve ever seen her.”

Perhaps, if Piotr were a more aggressively inclined man, he’d round up Wade and make the trip out to your childhood home to give your parents of piece of his mind and a final warning to stay away from you, period.

But, then, hitting women without direct provocation has never been his style --and, even then, the only woman he’d ever really hauled off on was Angel Dust, and she had super strength to match his.

Though, that had been a shitfit of a fight, so maybe it really wasn’t the best comparison.

_Maybe better thing to do would be calling Mikhail_ , he thinks as he starts frying the bacon on the skillet. 

His older brother had done his share of questionable government work, and usually didn’t mind pretending to play the role of the Russian hitman when the situation called for it.

But, on second thought, making it look like you’ve connected yourself with the Russian mob is the  _last_  thing you need.

He carefully sets the cooked bacon on your plate and adds a banana on the side --your potassium levels were bound to be low after not eating for over two days, and that wouldn’t do you any favors--before pouring you a glass of milk and carrying the plate and glass into the rec room.

In the end, aggression just really isn’t his style. Instead, he’ll focus on doing whatever it takes to convince you that you’re the center of his world and that he doesn’t plan on changing that.  _Ever_.

Though, if Wade disappears for a few days and your parents’ names end up in the obituaries section of some newspaper, he isn’t going to question it.

 

* * *

 

His next few days are focused completely on you --first priority being getting you to eat, second priority being getting you back into therapy sessions with Alyssa.

It’s hard, but not for the reasons he expected. He expected you to be stubborn. To dig your heels in. To argue and reason and refute.

You don’t do any of that. Instead, you’re almost uncontrollably weepy and unnervingly silent. It’s almost like someone’s reached inside you and ripped out the spark that makes you... well...  _you_.

It’s scary. He’s never seen you so fragile before --and he’s seen you weather panic attacks, breaks from reality, and countless fight induced injuries. You bounce back every time, never staying down for more than seventy-two hours. Tops.

But the persisting dullness in your eyes, the misery of your expression, the hurt in your voice, the way you stiffen and flinch whenever he touches like it causes you physical pain...

He winds up ranting to Ellie about it while Wade takes you out to lunch --they’d both agreed that getting out of the mansion would be good for you, and he needed some time to figure out  _just how_  he could help you out of your gloomy state--a couple days later. He doesn’t mean to --he firmly believes in keeping space between his romantic life with you and his mentor-slash-older brother role with Ellie--but it just ends up spilling out anyway.

His mentee, as usual, cuts through everything within a few sentences. “Look, Colossus, it’s great that you want to help Y/N, but you’re not going to be able to do anything. She’s spent the past week convincing herself that you don’t love her, and nothing’s gonna stick until she comes down from that and separates reality from what her mom told her was reality.”

He hangs his head.  _She’s right_. “Then... what do I do?”

Ellie shrugs, expressionless. “You can’t  _do_  anything. She’s gonna have to work through her paranoia on her own. You’re gonna have to trust that she’ll land on her feet.”

“ _Da_ , but... how do I convince her--”

“You can’t.”

“Ellie--”

“ _Colossus_. She’s not basing her assumptions on reality.  _There’s nothing you can do_.”

It’s a punch in the gut that he knew was coming, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. He knows, realistically, that there’s nothing he can do; he can’t take your hurt away, there’s no magic thing he can do to reverse the damage that’s been done. It’ll just take time and effort on your part.

_Bozhe moi, I wish I could, though._

 

* * *

 

You get angry and few days after his conversation with Ellie and break through with a vengeance.

He shouldn’t have been surprised that it’d happen whenever you got angry again. You claim that you do some of your best thinking when you’re angry --and, by in large, he really can’t disagree.

He wakes up to the sounds of enraged screaming and the sound of a metal baseball bat hitting a plastic folding table. He stumbles out of bed and over to the balcony outside his room--

You’re out on the front lawn with Wade and Nathan, demolishing rotten watermelons with a baseball bat.

He blinks, then rubbed his bleary eyes.  _Well... better than her chasing Scott_.

He dresses quickly, runs his fingers through his hair until the worst of the bedhead’s knocked out of it, then makes his way to the front of the house.

He catches Nathan’s eye as he approaches and points subtly at you, as if to as  _Is everything alright_?

_She woke up pissed_ , Nathan’s voice says in his mind.  _Figured it was best to get her out here and let her work her rage out_.

Well, there’s no arguing with that.

Wade taps you on your shoulder when he sees him approach, then points at him when you glare at your honorary older brother.

You whirl around, eyeing him, the remnants of the watermelon, and the bat, then tuck the bat behind your back.

He can’t help but grin back when you smile impishly at him. The spark’s back in your eyes, and he can’t help but hope that you’re finally doing better.

“Good morning, honey. I wasn’t doing anything destructive or suspect.”

“Of course not.”

“There are not chunks of watermelon everywhere.” You look down at the stains on your shirt and your impish grin grows wider. “Or on me.”

“Obviously.” He pauses for a minute, then holds his arms out to you, hoping you won’t shy away from the unspoken invitation.

Your breath catches, and then you’re dropping the bat and running towards him. You wrap your arms around his waist and press your face against his chest, clinging to him in a tight --borderline desperate--hug.

He wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head as he holds you. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

When you finally relax against him, he smiles, relieved.

You’re finally turning the corner.

 

* * *

 

Later that night, when you’re both rinsed off from the day and cuddling in his bed together, you hit him with a question that makes the relief from earlier in the day evaporate in seconds.

“Piotr... do you love me?”

His heart squeezes in his chest.  _Is she spiraling again? Bozhe moi, she was doing so much better this morning_. “Of course. Why would you even ask? Do you doubt it?”

Your mouth presses into a thin line, and you sit up. “If... if you ever fell out of love with me--”

“ _Myshka_ , I would  _never_ \--”

“Piotr.  _Please_.”

His teeth click as he shuts his mouth and he nods.  _Relax. Don’t talk over her_.

“If you ever fall out of love with me --or if you ever find yourself unhappy with our relationship--promise me that you’ll  _tell me_. That you wouldn’t just keep going on with things out of pity or assuming that it’ll get better.  _Promise me_ , Piotr, I need you to  _promise me_ \--”

He smiles softly at you as he understands what you’re asking. “I will always be honest with you about my feelings. No pity. No assuming.  _I promise_.”

The tension drains out of your face, and you smile wearily at him. “Thank you.”

He draws you down onto his chest, rubbing your back with one hand while he uses the other to smooth your hair. “I love you,  _myshka_. You are my world.  _Moya dusha. Moya serdste. Moya lyubov’_.”

“You’re my world, too. And whatever else that Russian meant.”

He chuckles at that. “It means... my soul.” He kisses your temple, not missing the way you flatten your body against his torso. “My heart.” He moves his lips down to your cheek, pressing a soft, slow kiss there. “My love.”

You beat him to the last kiss, mashing your lips against his and rocking your hips back and forth.

He lets out a soft moan and wraps his arms around you.

“Make love to me,” you whisper, soft and sensual, in his ear. “Please.”

He groans and rolls so you’re on your back and he’s positioned over you. He presses himself flush against you and murmurs against the spot below you ear “With pleasure.”

You snort. “No pun intended?”

He smirks against your neck as he starts pushing your shirt up your torso. “Never.”

 

* * *

 

Your phone rings a couple days later, while you’re out on the back lawn with Wade constructing who knows what for who knows why.

He almost smiles and shakes his head when he realizes you’ve left it inside, but the start of the smile slips away when he sees it’s a blocked number. His eyes narrow as he picks up the ringing device.  _I wonder_... He hits answer and lifts the phone to his ear. “ _Ya sluchu vas_.”

The caller is silent for a moment, and then a woman’s voice says “Oh, I, ah, must’ve called the wrong numb--”

“You are Mrs. L/N,  _da_? Mother of Y/N L/N.”

Another pause. “Who is this? How do you know that?”

He stares out the window at you and Wade, watches you smile and laugh. “Her boyfriend. I’ve heard many stories about you.”

A laugh this time, sharp and condescending. “Look, I don’t know what my daughter’s done to con you into pretending to be her boyfriend--”

“I find myself wondering why you keep harassing her,” he says. He’s not fond of cutting people off, but he knows a futile argument when he hears it --Wade’s taught him well. “She is adult, she is out of your hair, and it is clear you don’t want her. Why keep trying to find her? Why hire bounty hunters to kidnap her and bring her back to you?”

Another silence, this one more nervous than the other ones. “You can’t confirm that.”

“You still have not answered question, Mrs. L/N. Why keep harassing your daughter if you do not want her?”

“And what makes you think that?”

He leans against the counter, staring at the kitchen wall while his mind works. “You call her ‘abomination.’ You lock her in her room, let men hunt her with guns.”

“No one can confirm that.”

“I would disagree --as would the several telepaths who have met her.”

Another silence, quickly broken by a shaky breath. “Mutants are a perversion of God’s creation.”

“And what happened to love, kindness, and goodness?” His eyes narrow when he hears your mother suck in a breath. “You know it’s wrong. And yet, you do it anyway. What, because no one could ever prove it? No threat of legal retribution? Though, I suppose that is different now.”

“We both know the courts will never believe a mutant.”

“Perhaps not.” He glances over his shoulder and watches Wade laugh at something you said before turning around again. “Perhaps they are not necessary.”

“And just what does that mean?”

“There are many who love your daughter, Mrs. L/N. Many who would not hesitate to do whatever it takes to make sure she feels safe and loved.”

“Are you trying to threaten me?”

“I am merely stating facts. When you beat down on those weaker than you, you will always find others willing to protect them. You have to decide whether it is worth risk to keep beating.”

“Or what? You’ll track me down and kill my husband and I? And our entire town?”

“ _Nyet_.” He stands up and walks to the other side of the kitchen so he can watch you and Wade. It’s a relief to see you happy again; he doesn’t want anything to change that. “Did you know that you can track location of callers? Technology now, it is amazing. You can even track them back to home address, if they call on landline.”

A sharp gasp. “I will not--”

“I doubt your daughter would ever tell her friends where she grew up. Unlike you, she is  _kind_.”

“You listen, you insufferable--”

“I think you should listen for change, Mrs. L/N.” He lowers the pitch of his voice and glares at the floor as rage bubbles in his chest. “I have had to watch your daughter put herself back together after the way you treated her as child --and again, after you called her. She may mean nothing to you, but your daughter is most precious to me, and I will do  _whatever I have to so she feels safe_.”

“How dare--”

“Not just anyone can access location of callers. Unfortunately for you, I know someone who can.”

“So what? Never call my daughter again, or?”

His gaze lifts from the floor and he stares out at you. “I have many friends, Mrs. L/N. Many who hate you for what you’ve done to your daughter. I can only imagine what they’d do if they knew where you lived.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

He shrugs, even though no one can see him. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. You have to decide if risk is worthy.” He lets that hang in the air for a moment, then growls “Don’t call her again,” before hanging up and putting the phone back where you left it.

He closes his eyes, rolls his shoulders, and sighs.

He doesn’t like threatening people. It doesn’t come naturally to him the way it does to Wade or Nathan. He prefers encouraging people to be better over terrifying them into submission.

But, for you, it’s worth it. Some people can’t be reasoned with, after all.

He smiles as you and Wade walk inside, relieved to see you happy again and relieved to know that he’s done what he can to keep you safe.

 

* * *

 

Epilogue:

“Darling love of mine.”

He turns, pet name ready on his tongue, then freezes when he sees you holding up your cell phone.

“Care to explain to me why the battery seemed so drained when I picked it up from the kitchen this morning? Or why it was warm after it had been on the counter for half an hour? Or why there’s a call recorded between my phone and a blocked number?” You smile at him knowingly. “My mother called this morning.”

He knows it isn’t a question. “ _Da_.”

“While I was outside with Wade.”

“ _Da_.”

“You talked to her.”

“I did.”

Your eyebrows raise as you roll your eyes. “That had to be an experience. My condolences.”

“It was,” he agrees as he pulls you into a hug and kisses the top of your head. “I told her to leave you alone.”

“After encouraging her to go to therapy and be a better person, I’m sure.”

He smiles at your good-natured teasing. “Something like that.”

You sigh and smooth your hands over his chest. “My protector. What would I do without you?”

“You’d manage, I’m sure.”

“Perhaps. But it’d be so much lonelier without you.”

“On that, we can agree,” he murmurs before he tips your head back with his fingers and kisses you gently. As his lips move against yours, the mild strain of talking to your mother fades away into intangibility.

You’re better. You’re safe.

That’s all that matters to him, in the end.


End file.
